Haiku for (Long, Lost) Lovers

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She was like the moon—

I looked and looked but always

she was part-hidden.


(Strictly speaking) I

couldn’t know her well. And yet

I did know her well.


I know the perfect

arc of your spine the weapon

of your mouth’s request.


I know the pools of

light that dance on your collar bones

the silt of your yes.


I know the river

of your smile. I’ve been wading

through it for decades.


I know the knife edge

of memory feels realer

than the blood it draws.


I know perhaps most

of all the peculiar

violence of hope.

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